I've been very inspired by everybody's capstone short stories and felt like writing one of my own. I was particularly inspired by Sophie's since it hit kind of close to home so this is my homage to her. I was in an abusive relationship as was my mother and what I found really interesting about us was how we were kind of frightened to break free. We weren't frightened because of what the other would do to us but frightened because it was all we knew, and we did have an emotional attachment even though we were mistreated. For my mom, the catholic faith frowns upon divorce so she was locked in by catholic doctrine; I was locked in by the need for affection and the fear of being lonely. I title this piece "Bound".
It's 8:27 p.m., dinner is finished, the dishes are clean, and I am finally alone and in peace soaking in the bathtub watching the water swirl around me in a rainbow of reds and purples tickling my skin with the foamy, white, bubbles that remind me of the foam in the ocean I love so much. This is the only serenity I get anymore since I work two jobs now. It seems I'll do anything to avoid coming home these days, even on my days off I'll go on excursions in the woods or to obscure roadside attractions with my work friends, Tina and Lisa. I look down at my wedding ring on my finger like it's an anchor, a ball and chain, an inconvenience. I feel the pressure rise to my face as tears want to break their way through my eyes.
How can something I once was so happy to wear and look at bring me such agony? As I do every night in this tub, I make sure the door is locked, glance around in irrational paranoia, and go to remove the damned thing. It's a pretty ring, 14 carat gold band that twists and turns around the 8 carat diamond, carefully polished so it glistens and gleams like a shimmering star on my finger. I remember when he opened the box on one knee that evening on the beach and I swore it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I laughed, cried, danced around, and threw my arms around his neck frantically repeating: "I do, I do," over and over. Now I look at the ring in disdain. I reached down and took the ring between my middle finger and thumb and slid it to the tip of my finger. Once I slid it off I unplugged the drain and allowed the water to slowly drain revealing first my knees, then my calves, thighs, breasts, stomach, until all that was left was me naked in the empty tub frozen staring at the ring. I carefully got up and knelt over the drain danging the ring over the drain trying to build up the courage.
Every night I do this, and every night I begin thinking back to the engagement, the wedding, the honey moon, and how wonderful everything once was. It's as if all of those past events make up for the bruises on my shoulders, the finger marks on my neck, the agonizing pain in my back, and the welts all over my body. Once upon a time that whip we bought was used for fun, I would wear the marks on my body with pride. I hear the words in my head playing like a skipping record: "Let's try something new, you like it rough right? It'll be like we were first dating again." I shake my head in desperation trying to shake the sentence dripping with deceit from my brain. I leap up from my knees jump out of the tub and go to the bathroom mirror still holding the ring in my hand. I place it on the bathroom counter and look in the mirror carefully. I've aged quite a bit since we got married, I touch my hair and realize I'm losing more and more each day. My eyes look droopy and glazed, my face a constant frightened, depressed, frown. I've lost about 30 pounds too. Everyone says I look like I'm giving up and giving in. I'm only 35. I feel like I'm 300.
It could be so easy, I could just never come back home one day. I don't need to be torn from my bed every night and manipulated into the activity I once engaged in with joy. Then afterwards be coerced into an unnecessary discussion about how I keep the house, how much money I make, how much I go out, or how I don't perform as well as I used to. I don't need to then watch him drink out of the bottle he keeps on the nightstand and see the monster in his eyes come out of his skin, take over his body, and lash out at me. Sometimes it's not even preceded by sex, sometimes he just comes home already in the monster form. He's unpredictable these days but one thing I do know for sure, I will feel pain, and then I will feel guilt, and then I will still be there in the morning with his kiss and a cup of coffee as I have since I was 20. I open the mirror to the cabinet and look at the bottles of Xanax, Percoset, and Prozac. These are the spoils from the abuse, the opiate being from when he pushed me down the stairs one night and I herniated a disc in my back; but I tripped in heels that day. I take them out of the cabinet and pour out 20 mg of the Xanax, 30 mg of the Percoset, and put the Prozac back. I search around the cabinet and find his old prescription for Adderal. If there's one thing I do remember is that I can easily end this all with this cocktail. I take out two of the Adderal and look at the power in my hands. In my hands I have freedom, peace, quiet, no pain, death, suicide. I look in the mirror holding the pills in my hand and place the ring with them. Suddenly I see a change in my eyes almost before the idea hits me.
Why should I be the one giving in, and giving up? What good will it do? He'll gain the sympathy, and tell everyone I was a depressed maniac. I have friends that care, and my manager Craig has been quite interested in me lately. I don't need to take this way out, I don' t need to be bound. I look around the bathroom and find a soap dish and a plastic bag. I placed the cocktail in the plastic bag and picked up the soap dish. I crush all the pills in the bag until their a rainbow powder, a death potion. A potion that will set me free. I can see I may have lost my mind, I glance at the clock. 8:57. I have three minutes. I quickly throw on my pajama pants and a tank top and rush into the bedroom.. I go under his side of the bed and pull out the bottle of rum. I open the bag and start pouring the contents in his bottle, but then I hear the door open. Suddenly everything keeps rushing back at me. I hear his footsteps on the stairs and I get up off the floor, shut the bottle, and return it to it's rightful spot. I calmly walk to the bathroom and flush the bag, and wash my hands of the deed I just barely got away with. I see the ring on the counter, and place it back on my hand. He walks by the bathroom and gives me a sly smile and goes into the bedroom to change for bed.
"How was having drinks with the guys baby?"
"They're such lovable assholes, but I only had two beers."
"Oh, why?"
"Happy anniversary darling!" He hands me a bouquet of flowers with a little card that read: This day 20 years ago I promised I'd make you mine, and now I know you'll never leave.
